


Repent

by AlphaStarr



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Bondage, D/s, Dom!Dirk, Fluff, Hair-pulling, M/M, Mentions of piss, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, Rimming, Spanking, Sub!Jake, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 15:50:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaStarr/pseuds/AlphaStarr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jake English has been a very, very bad boy in the recent updates. Dirk Strider thinks he needs to repent for his behavior.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Repent

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not actually pissed at Jake, but I _am_ deeply upset by the recent turn of events. I wrote this fic to comfort myself. There may be varying amounts of OOC distributed throughout. I don't know. I was fairly distraught when writing it.
> 
>  _4/2/14 EDIT:_ Somebody commented that this fic was a little dubcon-y, so I have changed the contents slightly in order to alleviate the problem. Jake now has a safeword. If there is anything still wrong with it, let me know! Thanks! :) 

You are Jake English, and Dirk Strider is really pissed at you.

Granted, perhaps it wasn't necessarily the  _best_  way to get him to punish you, but what else could you do? He wasn't reacting when you got you both lost in the Lion's Mouth (which, admittedly, actually wound up helping you get to the end of it), or when you forgot your gas mask that one time. He hadn't even scolded you when you accidentally pissed your pants in the middle of some ruins and he had to take you back to the surface to clean up-- you'd only managed to wrest from him a wistfully exasperating shake of the head, like you were a puppy who simply couldn't be helped when it came to pissing about as you pleased. Literally, in one case. You were almost  _certain_  he'd lay into you for that one!

So you told him you were going to go alchemize some things, and proceeded to fuck off into absolutely nowhere for a couple of days. You studiously ignored every text he'd sent your way, see how  _he_  liked being given absolutely no attention. You made it a point to complain very loudly to Mr. Erisolsprite, hoping that Dirk would catch wind of it and finally give you your just deserts. Your just desserts, too, if you had anything to say about it. It wasn't until you pestered Jane about it with threats of breaking up (you certainly hadn't expected her to get that angry; you had expected yet less her apparent crush on your lover) that Dirk managed to track your location from the signal and find you.

It had been barely six minutes since you'd closed the chat when you'd suddenly been tackled straight off the rock you were sitting on, eagle-spread and face-down with Dirk's arms pinning you to the ground. Which brought you to now.

"You are in so much fucking trouble, Jake English," he growls in a tone of voice that expresses more fury than you'd ever heard come from him before.

It frightens you a little-- that wasn't the usual tone he'd take when punishing you. Usually, he was a lovingly reproachful master, one that told you how it was only for your own good, and that he was certain you'd learn your lesson and weren't you a good boy for learning something. He was the type of master who you'd never needed to use your safeword on, because he always knew what you were thinking. _This_  was burning with the anger of a thousand suns.

You whimper-- half aroused, half afraid.

The setup of Dirk's fetch modus requires him to rap a line or two to get any items out. You were expecting something along the lines of wanting to tie down his precious hope or that without you, he couldn't cope or something else that rhymed with "rope", you don't know!

"English, you idiot, are you INSANE?" he scolds you harshly, pulling your face up by your hair so he can look you in the eyes. His shades are still in place, but you are close enough to see his pupils blown wide with madness of more than one variety. "You need to be fuckin' punished with some CUFFS AND A CHAIN."

He drops your head and your face falls into the ground again. Your glasses tumble off from the sudden movement, and you aren't entirely sure where they are. No longer on your visage, that's for certain.

Yanking both of your arms towards him, he gathers your wrists at the center of your back and traps them in circles of steel. Handcuffs. You try to turn your head to the side, just to have even a vague idea of what he's doing, but he holds your skull in place, forcefully shoving your nose deep enough into the soft grasses of LOMAX to smell the earthy soil.

"Do you know how goddamn  _worried_  I was?" he hisses, pulling your shorts off with a single snap, so hard that your thighs feel the whiplash from the tight spandex being removed all at once. It's like when you shot yourself in the face with a rubber-band that one time, except worse because it's all over your legs.

You emit a muffled whine that means, "No, I didn't, but I know now and I'm very, very, very,  _very_  sorry."

"You disappear for two days to go off doing fuck-knows-what, when at any given moment you could be  _killed_ ," he would be roaring if he wasn't keeping his voice at that horrible, awful, deadly whisper. "And then, when someone actually catches word of you, you're tellin' her how much you want to break up with me. Rescind everything. Debrand yourself."

His hand comes down on your ass with a resounding smack.

You flinch. It stings, it stings really bad and you wait for his hand to come back on you with infinitely softer caresses to soothe it a little, something to reassure you that he still loves you in-between hits. It never comes.

"That true, English?" Dirk spits your name out of his mouth like it hurts him to say it, and he smacks your left asscheek again so that you feel the pain, too. "You think I'm too clingy? Too  _self-absorbed_?"

The third hit comes down in between your cheeks, where it hurts the worst, but feels the best. You emit a moan, spreading your legs a little wider and hoping that, even if it's only for another second, his fingers will grace your asshole again.

"Slut," he snorts derisively, the slur as simultaneously painful and pleasing as being spanked. "This was all a ploy to get me to fuck you, wasn't it?"

You give the affirmative with words mumbled into the dirt and push your hips upwards to take the pressure off your hardening dick, showing that yes, you would very much like it if he fucked you.

"I didn't hear you, Jake," he replies cruelly, knowing full well how you're feeling. His knee comes up under your hips, and you are, quite literally, bent over his knee. "What did you say?"

"Yes," you groan, the hand on your head loosening pressure for a minute to allow your response.

He gives your right cheek a firm smack, "Sorry, maybe I didn't hear correctly the first time.  _What did you say_?"

Nearly a week without punishment has made you forgetful. You gulp and quickly rectify your mistake, "Yes, sir!"

"Pffft," he exhales in annoyance. "At least you're admitting it."

His fingers meet your derriere again, but he takes the hand off your head completely now-- you relish it by turning you head to the side.

It's too bright at first, and exceedingly blurry. But you can breathe, and you can talk, and you can feel Dirk's warmth, which is a good thing, always.

"You've been bad, Jake," he informs you, as if it's a matter of fact. You are as certain of it as you are of the hand dealing another blow to your still-stinging ass. "You worthless whore. Disclaimin' me like it ain't shit. Like you'd just as soon find some other master. Telling Jane she could have me, for all you cared. Can't even tell me where you are when I've got all the right in the world to know. You're goddamn lucky I found you first. How stupid are you, runnin' off alone?"

He hits you another time, with all the wound up emotion he's got, and similarly, it hits you just how awful you've been to him. He loves you, and you made him think you were dead. There was a reason he was your master, dumbass-- he wanted to protect you, to keep you safe and happy. And all you did, you ungrateful twit, was scorn him by ignoring his concern just for a little attention. He'd done so much for you, and it was greedy and unfair of you to ask for more when he already spent every waking hour caring for you. How could you have forgotten, and then said so many nasty things about him to not just Erisolsprite, but Jane? Falsehoods, even-- you were not a good manipulator or wordsmith, and you'd simply said the opposite of what you felt. Bad Jake, worst boyfriend.

"I'm stupid," you choke out through tears you didn't even know you were crying-- which should really say something about your intelligence within itself. "I'm such a bad, dumb person. Dirk, I--"

He cuts you off with a physical reprimand, "Who said you could say my name?"

Oh no. He's never verbally prohibited you from calling his name, even if he sometimes hit you for it. It's okay, you think, though your heart just about breaks. You don't deserve the right to use it anymore.

That's a painful thought within itself. You sob, "I'm sorry, master."

"Better be," he replies, giving you a sharp reminder with his palm. That's nine, it's almost over, it  _has_  to be. You stop at ten, you always stop at ten, and he never hits this hard either. Maybe it's over right now, because you're already crying-- though it's more from the ache in your heart than the one in your bottom.

The tenth hit shocks you out of the delusional fantasy, but you give a relieved sob. You just want Dirk to love you again, to hold you and tell you that you were good for serving your punishment, and maybe scritch you behind the ears.

He doesn't. Instead, he pushes you off his thigh and you roll over, landing in a position much like the first one. You turn your head again just in time to see him undo his belt and the fly of his pants. Maybe he wants you to pleasure him before he forgives you, and you are just dandy with that idea. The very concept of sucking his cock makes your blood flow from your flushing ass to your dick.

That is, until you hear the cracking of his belt. Shit. No. He isn't going to hit you with that... is he? Please, dear god, no. You can imagine the sensation of the metal Batman buckle and the utility compartments on your ass, and it's obvious to even you that being whipped by that would be just  _awful_.

You squeeze your eyes shut in terror as you anticipate the first blow, only to be met with... a brush of cord?

A tendril of Bat-lasso dances up your back, making you anxious. Just when is it going to hit you? And where?

"You starting to feel nervous, English?" Dirk's word are biting and so sharp, you expect the whip to come down on you as he says them. "Nervous as I was when you went missing, maybe. How's that abyss of uncertainty feel, not knowing what comes next?"

It makes you feel like shit all over again. You, Jake English, are the lowest of the low for making your lover feel like this for literally  _days_. You could sob again, and, in fact, you do.

"I heard you said you regretted it," the bitterness seeps into his voice, and you realize to your own disgust that you said words that actually hurt him. "You wished you'd never been branded as mine."

"I didn't mean it," you voice wavers, and you feel so utterly small. "I love it, I could never regret it, having your claim on me tattooed--"

"Shut up," he is more annoyed than infuriated as he says this. You hear another crack, and the next thing you feel is rope on your skin.

You cry out as the whip comes down upon you-- once, twice, thrice! Shoulders, wrists, and buttocks, all in quick succession. It isn't quite so bad at your shoulders, where the cloth of your spiffy jacket protects you from the lash. The handcuffs around your wrists reverberate and chafe with the rope's impact, but it hurts the most at your ass, where he'd just been spanking you. He cracks the whip this time, a sound most unlike the snap of his belt, and you just about die of anticipation as you wait for another hit.

It never comes. Waiting for the fourth hit is actually worse than being hit three times. The tears and snot drip down your face, and you sniffle a bit in absolute misery as you wait for the other shoe to drop. There is some brief consideration of the safe word, even. You cannot take it anymore.

"Please, master, hit me," you beg, aching to finally get your closure.

"I think I'll wait," his tone is ticked off and irate, and maybe you could calm that down and convince him to just hit you  _now_ , gosh consarn it!

"Master, please," your whining voice cracks. "I've been so bad, sir, but I promise I'll be better... please, I love you, Dirk... hit me."

He does, very lightly and very quickly, about three inches above your knees. You groan in relief, throbbing everywhere.

You hear a soft thud as the rope falls to the ground and Dirk's steps in the soft grass as he walks around to face you.

"You said my name again," he is not pleased, and you feel even smaller than you already are. You realize that you are experiencing sensation of utter humility, wrists bound, body frail, and completely helpless before the man that you love, the man that you  _hurt_.

Your eyes close. You no longer consider yourself worthy of even looking at him. Your only hope of absolution lies in whatever further punishment he decides to give you, and you await it eagerly.

"Sit," he commands, and that is a normal thing for him to ask you to do. With all the obedience of a well-trained dog, you squall about on the floor until you manage to right yourself into a sitting position. Were you actually a well-trained dog, your tail would have been wagging with pride, and you'd expect a milkbone for performing the trick.

The former does not happen. The latter does.

One of Dirk's fingers presses down your lower lip, and you open your mouth as wide as it will go so he can push his erection past your lips, over your tongue, into your throat. You gag, but he tastes so good and feels so good that you keep pushing his dick back, trying to take in all of it (you can't).

"That's right," Dirk affirms, one of his hands roughly fisting your hair. You become acutely aware of how hard you are, and try to take his dick even further back. You gag and choke, but he holds your head in place. "Can't say much of anything now, can you?"

You try to give an affirmative mumble around a mouthful of cock as you pull back just far enough to breathe, but you aren't quite sure if he got the message. It's probably a good thing you can't talk right now, since your big, stupid mouth was what hurt him in the first place.

He thrusts deep into your throat a few times, stifling your breath, but never too long. Your tongue caresses the underside of his erection every stroke, and you try to get the tip of him, right where his foreskin ends, most specifically. You know from experience just how much he likes it when you do that.

He makes a noise that's somewhere between a moan and a hiss, but you can tell he's enjoying himself as his hips pick up their pace, changing from a slow debauchery to complete debasement.

The harder he fucks your mouth, the better you feel about it. He was using you like a living waste receptacle for his pleasure, just as he deserved to after putting up with your bullshit. Your sharp ears pick up his soft grunts, occasional groans, and heavy breathing; your hips cant upwards in arousal, thighs tightening and squeezing and pressing together subconsciously as a result of the agitation in your loins. You ache for the friction that you aren't getting, and your boner is so hard it hurts. Good, you think, because you need the pain and you certainly don't deserve the pleasure. Dirk  _always_  knows just what you need.

"Fuck, Jake," he sounds condescendingly amused. That tone of voice sends shivers all down your spine that you can feel in your bruising ass and your quivering cock. "You look like you're going to cum just from sucking my dick."

"Mhhhmf!" you give the affirmative, and, in case he didn't understand, you nod. He'd just have to say the word, and you'd go off like a rocket.

He says an order, but not the one you were hoping for, "Don't."

You mmmfmmpgh in alarm (there aren't exactly any verbs that quite describe the noise you just made). You have no idea what being prohibited from cumming means, and you aren't particularly eager to find out. If it means not getting off until after Dirk does, then you're in for one Hell of an afternoon, because his stamina is almost horrifyingly high-- you have extraordinarily pleasant memories of being fucked until you came, then stimulated and screwed until you came again, and then lying limp with satiation and being ridden until he finally came inside you.

"Don't you dare complain," Dirk growls, giving your hair a yanking reprimand that you feel in your scalp. "You brought this all down on yourself, Jake. I hope you've learned your fucking lesson."

You try so, so hard to tell him that you'll never, ever run away again, you'll never forget it, that he taught you your lesson and you are genuinely sorry for being so stupid and for needing him to beat it into you because it just won't stick any other way.

You wind up blabbering an incoherent sloppy mess of your saliva over and around his dick, the fluid joining your tears in staining your face. He wrinkles his nose with distaste at that, going as far as to remove his cock from your mouth. You swallow the mixture of precum and spit before starting to blab out apologies that don't make sense even to you, just a senseless stream of "sorry"s with more than just one or two phrases that are only even vaguely relevant to everything, but it's something to say and it fills the silence and God, you hope he realizes how sorry you are.

"Shut. Up," his voice drops to a deadly whisper, and he sounds like he does when he has a headache from spending too much time on his planet. You emit one last hiccup before going dead silent, your eyes creaking open into just little slits. You are kneeling at his feet, and his menacing erection is poised over your face.

He kneels down in that second, undoing the cuffs from one of your hands. You are confused, until he begins to unbutton your shirt. You try to help him, but he gives you a look that very clearly means, "you'll mess it up" and you drop your hands down limply to your sides as he undresses you, so you are completely nude in the middle of a field in the dead of LOMAX. It occurs to you that Erisolsprite might still be around, and gosh, you sure hope this doesn't make your friendship awkward.

Your entire upper body is bared-- jacket stripped, necktie undone, undershirt ripped away-- and he takes your hands in his for a second, the weight of handcuffs on one of your wrists misbalancing them. That moment of holding your hands makes it less painful to have them bound together again, this time in the front. You stare up into his general direction, your lips and heart both quivering as you ache for forgiveness.

He takes three steps forward and, from the back of your head, he shoves your face into the ground, your ass high in the air. There will be no forgiveness for you yet, and even an idiot like you can see that. You've been bad and dumb and you are so lucky to have Dirk to take care of you and keep you stable in an oceanic tumult of confusion. You trust him-- if punishing you this much harder than before is his way of making sure you're good next time, then you will accept anything he wants to give you.

"Let's see if I should give you a quick fingering," he appears to mull over the rhetorical suggestion, one hand holding you by the thigh and the other one resting on your ass; it tingles and aches from the pressure. "Bet you're tight as all hells right now."

He gives your derriere a lascivious caress, and you shudder out a moan as the tingling sends shivers through every inch of your flesh. You want him in you so bad, sinking into your body and making you feel the slow, delicious burn of his descent into your depths. But he's big, large enough to break you if you're not careful, and gosh if that isn't scary.

"Please," you shift your hips as you reply, your voluptuous butt swaying in the air. Your knees subconsciously part, sliding to either side of you from where they are planted over the ground.

"Man, who am I kidding," he continues speaking as if he'd never even heard you. A sharp slap hits the lower curve of your bottom, just north of where ass meets thigh, and you yelp in pained shock. "You fucking love having shit up your ass. I'm willing to bet you were riding your own fingers less than a day ago. Wouldn't be surprised if you let that sprite of yours have a go, you filthy slut."

"No!" you exclaim, deeply distressed and hurt by the very suggestion. It was all your fault, making Dirk think you didn't want him anymore, you _had_  to make sure he knew. "I love you, Dirk, only you... I wouldn't, sir, I didn't even  _touch_  it-- master,  _please_! I love you I love you I love you I love you oh God I love you..."

You dissolve into hysterics, crying into your fisted hands, the saline fluid irritating your wrists where they were already starting to chafe. You can't think for a minute, but when you do, it's to Dirk's fingers stroking your thigh in a gesture you find somewhat soothing.

"You saved yourself for me for a whole week, didn't you?" he answers, his voice much softer than it was before. "That's pretty impressive for you, English."

He lays a light kiss, barely even there, at the small of your back, and you just about collapse from relief, your midriff shuddering and giving way so that your entire upper body lay on the floor. Dirk always knows just what to do to make everything all right, how to bring you to the edge of sanity and pull you back to earth once he's finished.

But he doesn't stop there, no, he kisses down your tailbone, open-mouthed, tracing his tongue over wherever happened to strike his fancy. His fingers part your cheeks, then, and it hurts because they're still as red as blood from your spanking. He places a last kiss on your left buttock and then puts his moistened lips around your entrance.

You keen and whine when his tongue first snakes out, its wetness and heat a  foreign sensation. It traces and circles your rim, occasionally pressing into the divot of flesh just enough to tease you. His kisses and worships the ass that he'd just spent the last fifteen (twenty? thirty? you don't know anymore) minutes debasing and punishing, and the absolute pleasure you are feeling is only contradicted by the fingertips clutching at your reddened cheeks. You feel the pulsing of your cock with acute sensation, and if he just laid a couple strokes on it, you could probably cum right now.

Dirk's tongue pokes in a little further, and you shudder deeply, pushing your ass backwards onto his tongue. Your opening spasms around it, fluttering between tense and relaxed. He's ridiculously good at this, giving your inner walls gentle licks and rolling it around to deliver just the right enough pressure to every spot. It isn't long before withdraws again and you groan in disappointment, clenching your swollen asshole, which feels by far too empty.

"You just can't wait for my cock, can you," Dirk purrs lowly into your ear, his teeth catching on to your lobe. You nod frantically, and the scrape of Dirk's teeth as it drags your ear from him makes you all the more eager. "Mmmmm... be patient. Soon."

His fingers graze over your bottom, all the way down to your thigh, pausing to rub his thumb at the spot where he'd whipped it (an especially sensitive sore spot, now that you're aware of it). He mutters something very quickly (Rubix cube? rounded tube?) and the next thing you're aware of is the removal of his fingers from your derriere as he flips open a container of lube. You hear the lid snap shut and you know just what's going to happen next. The cool semifluid on your asshole makes you shiver and clench for a second, but you try to relax so he can wiggle his index in there.

It really has been a while since the last time he's had you, as in literally over a week. After the first one or two times he fucked you, you'd been bedded frequently enough to keep you loose enough to screw at any given moment, after a quick lubing. You love the burn of spreading yourself on Dirk's cock, that perfect, deliciously slow stretch as he enters you, making him struggle to to get inside you because he's just so _big_  and you're just so  _tight_. But you haven't even touched yourself, and you know that it would really, really hurt if he didn't at least loosen you up a little. You figure that Dirk's got all the rest of the schemantics about how much you can take, anyways, so if he thinks you need a little more preparation, then you'll trust his judgement.

His finger rubs at your walls in stroking motions as he slides it in and out, ever so slightly. You take a deep, breathy sigh. It's pleasant, like afternoon tea to an English gentleman who is accustomed to having it at 2:30 sharp each day-- nice, relaxing even, but not particularly amazing. And also something you, as an English gentleman, are accustomed to having by at least 2:30 every day, by your own means or otherwise.

He presses the second digit in, and ooh. Now we're getting somewhere. Your massive bucked teeth slip over your lips and you fidget as he pushes them into you, bending and pushing and scissoring them once they're in. Dirk's fingers are magic, and by far more dexterous than yours. Longer, too.

The pads of his fingertips tease you by purposefully dancing around your prostate. You  _know_  he's doing it on purpose, because he finds it without fail every time. You groan with frustration, your hips thrusting backwards to hump his fingers, aroused and horny and Jesus kringlefucking Christ, you can feel your precum dripping onto the grass beneath you.

"Ah-ah," his precautionary tone seeps into your ears as he seizes you by the base of your erection, just as you are about to come to an unsatisfying finish. "What did I tell you?"

"I won't, I promise," you whimper, and he releases you. It takes every milligram of your self control not to orgasm right then and there, but you manage it. For him, always for him.

A third finger makes its way inside you, and you can really feel the stretching now. It has just the slightest twinge of pain to it, and you very nearly jizz yourself again. You haven't the foggiest idea how you're still holding on.

It's over in what feels like a flash, and you know that Dirk's done that speedy thing again. You are relieved, not entirely certain you could possibly take any more of that torture. Any sudden action, whether it be painful or pleasurable, is apt to act as the trigger to make you shoot your gun.

He knows-- of course he knows, he always does-- and he puts his hands on your thighs gently, slowly increasing the pressure into a full-formed grip as he rubs the head of his dick over your entrance. The lube is still cold on both accounts, and you realize he must have gone to apply a thick coating to his cock, and you are grateful because it bites you and takes the edge off your boner.

You're already breathing heavily in anticipation, your cuffed-together hands folded together as you rest your scalp on them like you're praying. They say that the body is a temple, and Dirk is the god of yours.

"Please," you exhale, your knees going weak and jittery. All of your body strength dissolves, and you very nearly collapse into the grass completely. You would have, if not for Dirk catching your hips. His strong hands are the only things holding you up.

"Please  _what_?" he asks right back, beginning to press inwards ever-so-slightly. Your entrance gives a little twitch.

"Please, sir," you beg, feeling every cell in your body flare up with the caleficiency of desire. "Fuck me!!! Take me!! Oh, Dirk, please...!"

You moan his name as he stretches your ass wide with the thick, bulbous head of his erection. It hurts, it hurts a lot, longer than the quick whipping and more deeply within you than the spanking. By the time he pops the head of his cock into you, you are considerably further from the edge than you were less than five minutes ago.

The hardest part of Dirk's (literal) hardest part is in you now, and each exhale is a sigh of relief. One of his thumbs draws loving circles into your hip, and you are so lucky that Dirk, who understands just what you need when you need it, is your master.

From just the gradual slowing down of your deep breaths, he can tell that it's ok to begin moving again. You make a staccatoed, cracked whine as he begins to split your ass on his shaft, sinking deep into the warm, silken recesses of your internal cavern. He's spreading you from the insides out, and you bite your lip so hard you almost draw blood and make throaty, wordless noises of ache and arousal.

He seems to slide into you forever, the stretch of his cock leaving a burning trail everywhere behind it. He grunts above you, making sexy little sounds that only you are close enough to hear. You aren't sure when it happens or how long it's been, but he stops when you're less than an inch away from his balls pressing against your ass.

You moan out loud at the thought. He's in you, and you're fuller than you've been for days. Your hips make minute thrusts backwards, just wanting to feel all of him, every last inch he's got, filling you up and claiming you his.

"You like that, don't you, baby," he purrs to you, deep and seductive. "Lookin' so good wrapped around my cock. You were just made to take dick up this sweet, tight little ass, weren't you."

"Yeeeeeeeeees," you groan back, so hot and so full as your hips shift again and you feel him in you so acutely. 

"Damn right, you were," he answers, shifting his own hips. He withdraws just slightly before pushing it back in. "Made for me to fuck just like this, baby."

"Oh, fffffffuck, yes," you whine, not certain whether you're agreeing with his statement or enjoying his movement or both.

"Mmmm, yeah, I thought so," Dirk groans, making a wider thrust that pushes himself even further into you. His next thrust is similar, and the one after that, as he works you into a steady rhythm, your thighs thrusting backward into his, your ass against his hips and lap, his cock pistoning in and out of your hot little butt, rocking into you with almost tangible lust, turning you into a melting, thoroughly debauched mess.

You can feel the tension in your lower stomach as Dirk builds it up with his shaft in your warm passage and filthy, filthy words whispered into your ears. You can't help it, you're so close.

"P-pl-please," you stammer. It's far from your current level of coherency to speak, but you manage. Barely. "G-gonnaaaaHHH!"

Your voice climbs in pitch and volume as he thrusts up directly into your prostate, and your cock hurts so much from holding back your imminent orgasm. But you can't, not yet, he hasn't said you can...

And then, he says it: "Come, Jake."

You feel everything go white, though your eyes are shut and you could only see the pitchest of blacks. Your shoulders bunch and your toes curl and you come, crying out the one word you can remember as your seed erupts forth, "DIRK!!"

Your pleasure is too complete, so complete you can't even breathe for a couple of seconds. When you come back into the world of the conscious, your eyes fluttering open just a creak, Dirk is still thrusting into you, abusing your prostate still even as your cock hangs limp beneath you. You gasp and pant like a dog on an extraordinarily hot summer's day, your breath coming out into heaves as your hypersensitive everything continues being pleasured to no avail.

His thrusts break free of his flawless rhythm now, colliding into you with an unpatterned, brutal pace, using you like a fucktoy as he mutters some malarkey you can hardly make out through your post-coital haze. At last, he pushes himself all the way in you, and you clench tightly around him as he spills every last drop of what he's got into your body, riding your exhausted frame until he's done and he withdraws completely, but you're full of him in another manner entirely, so it's okay.

His hands hold you up no longer, and without their support, you flop over helplessly onto your left side, exhausted, satiated, utterly fulfilled. You close your eyes for a second and catch your breath; when you open them again, Dirk is standing, zipping up his pants and re-attaching his utility belt. That shocks you awake. He isn't thinking of leaving you here... is he?

No. You can't. You'll  _die_  if he leaves you.

You try to stand up, but you can't even sit. Even trying to crawl, your legs are too gelatinized to make it more than a foot without collapsing, your hands still bound. Exhausted, face-down in the grass with your own cum drying on your chest, you can do nothing but cry.

"Jake?" Dirk's hand caresses your bare shoulder. His voice is so much softer than before, hoarser, too. "Jake, baby, I didn't take it too far, did I?"

He pulls you into his strong arms, and you sob harder-- this time with relief. It's all okay. He still wants you.

"Shhh, sweetheart," he rocks you in his arms a little, like you're not much more than a child, and you cling to him and kiss his cheek.

"I'm never, ever, ever going to run away again," you finally whimper, still rubbing the tears on your face into the cloth of Dirk's wifebeater.

"I know you ain't," he soothes you, placing a quiet kiss on your forehead. One of his hands moves to remove the handcuffs, and you subconsciously rub your wrists. "Sorry I had to teach you such a hard lesson, darlin'. I love you."

"I love you too," you smile softly, before catching his lips with yours in a chaste kiss. "I'm so sorry."

"It's all right, Jake," he sighs, dancing his kisses down to your neck. "It's not your fault. You know better now, don't you?"

"Mmmmhm," you hum in agreement, nuzzling into his hair, bathing yourself in his scent and the relief of forgiveness.

"Good boy," Dirk gives you an affectionate squeeze before reaching into his utility and withdrawing a moist towelette from one of the compartments. He begins washing your chest.

You laugh. The wetness of the wipe against your too-sensitive skin tickles.

"Q-quit it, Dirk," you snicker, pressing the palms of both hands into your cheeks.

"Sorry, English, no can do," he kisses the tip of your nose and continues to pursue you.

You wiggle out of his lap, still too sore walk, but plenty stable enough to roll yourself away, though it still stings to roll onto your back. Dirk follows on his knees, finally tackling you and pinning you still.

"Gotcha," he says, giving you another good scrub. It's over in but a minute or two, and he captchalogues the used wipe, probably for later conversion into grist.

You strike then, flipping him over, but you are at the edge of the hill now-- you both go tumbling down a slope, rolling in the grass, laughing together.

You pin him underneath you and chuckle, "Who's got who now?"

He pulls you down to kiss him. All is well.


End file.
